


The Loss of Yours

by GingerLyoness



Category: The Hour
Genre: Baby, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerLyoness/pseuds/GingerLyoness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bel dies after the birth of hers and Freddie's first child, he learns to cope without her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Loss of Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diaghileafs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diaghileafs/gifts).



> This was written from the prompt 'death in childbirth', which was sent to me on tumblr by an anonymous party for the fic war. Somehow, I really wish I hadn't agreed to this.

A haemorrhage they had said. So much internal bleeding her body could no longer take it, her life slipping away without any way of saving it. Too late now. Of course they couldn’t bring her back, it was impossible. She was lying cold, nothing of the woman he loved. Nothing like the friend, comrade, colleague, producer, partner, lover she had been. His Moneypenny had left him, despite his promises.

_“I am tired of it not being possible. You **are**  possible. You  **are**  possible  **with me**.”_

The words had echoed around the tiny room, the warmth still on his lips from the kiss they had shared, aching to stay but longing to go, the story always coming first. Anyone could tell him it was a mistake, the state he was in afterwards. Perhaps this was how she felt that night, when he was nearly lost to haemorrhage and internal bleeding, along with several broken bones and a lazy numbness that prevailed throughout his recovery period.

He just wished she didn’t have to  _go._

So suddenly, without warning. Apparently it was  _perfectly normal_ and it  _wasn’t unusual for it to happen, even in the healthiest of women._ And Bel had been healthy. Healthy, strong, capable, unwavering Bel. Things were different already, and it had only been a few days.

Leaving her had been the hardest part. Leaving the room where she lay, uncharacteristically peaceful. The silence was unbearable. Lix had had to tear him away in the end,  _“come on, beautiful boy,”_ murmured gently in his ear, she knew reassurance would be no help to him.

The child had survived, though. A stout little girl of 7 pounds 6 ounces, with dark hair just beginning to form into curls on the crown of her head. Her baby blue eyes would gaze up at him as he held her, long dark eyelashes framing the inquisitive looks she gave him.  _“Just like her father,”_ she would have said. But she wasn’t there to say it, so there was no use thinking of the ‘what ifs’.

He had decided to call her May after his mother, it only seemed right. As one of the biggest influences on his life, it was the first name that came to mind when the midwife asked him for the child’s name. Ruth was her middle name, after the sister he had during his summers spent at the Elms’ country home.

He hadn’t been in the room when she had died. Of course, a man would never be permitted to enter the room during the process, it just simply wasn’t done. It was only after the squalling cries had echoed through the walls, growing louder as the door had opened to Lix’s solemn face. He didn’t need to be told twice.

She looked pale, her lips losing the colour they had, even without the lipstick she insisted upon wearing. He had sunk into the chair beside her, head in his hands as the sobs wracked his body. The gurgle of their child reached his ears, his head jerking upwards as he looked towards the sound. The midwife informed him that it was a girl, perfectly healthy. He had tried not to cry as he looked down at her. She looked like her mother.

Days pass, paternity leave is painful without her. He sits cross-legged on the floor, back resting against the sofa as the child rests in his lap, gurgling and giggling as she grasps his fingers tightly. He can’t help but smile, cooing to her quietly, his voice gentle and soothing, “what?” he asks, “what’s so funny? Do I look silly to you?” his hair flopped into his face, devoid of its usual Brylcreem. He pulled a face, chuckling as the child giggled louder.

He lifts her up into his arms gently, handling her as if she would break. He holds her to his chest, “I love you, May,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head sweetly, “and your Mummy loves you, too. But she can’t be here. She had to go and live in the clouds,” he sighs, rocking from side to side slightly as the child grows silent, deep breathing coming a moment later. He smiles, “a liar, just like her father. Said you weren’t tired, you little tyke,” he murmurs to the sleeping child.

He walks to the other room, his old room. The dark wallpaper has since been stripped, the room looking brighter and more suited to a baby. He lays her down in the cot, stroking her cheek gently with his forefinger, “if you could see her, Moneypenny,” he murmurs. And in that moment, he thinks he can feel her next to him, arm around his waist as they gaze at their child together.


End file.
